The high mountains

It has been one week since sighting the traffic jam. The weather, though cold, has been mild. I took the lead this morning, giving Reese a break, Ann being all the more greatful, giving the four of them a little down time. I broke a cardinal rule this morning, and let my young grandson ride with me on point.  It was no oversight. He is seven years of age, and since the EOW, has grown as wild as the wind above the mountains. He is solid muscle, strong for his age, and has hit his growing spurt just recently. Thank God for the seamstress women in our family.
I let him ride in front of me, telling him I "needed an extra set of eyes".  He has learned his woodcraft with amazing quickness.  Someday he will surpass me, his father, and uncle. It is a great comfort to me to know he is learning so well, and to see this child, blood of my blood, a generation removed, knowing our family is alive in him, and in my granddaughter, who at every camp, is right there with the women of our family, learning, growing and doing all she can to lend a hand. Yesterday, her uncle John came back from hunting with a scratch, and I watched her take a survival kit from her pocket, sit him down, and with the skill of a professional nurse, clean the wound, bandage it, and tell him, "uncle John, you gotta be more careful".  It brought a lump to my throat that didn't want to stay down. 
We sit around the fire, in a clearing, surrounded by the High Rockies. A light snow is falling. My wife rose, a love of many years, is with me, reading over my shoulder, and has a secret look of satisfaction on her face. This journal I keep, was her idea. Someday,  far in the future, our decendants will sit, much like we are tonight, and know how things came to be.  Lifes greatest blessings, sometimes disguised in tragedy, lead us to a brighter future.